


Better to Reign than to Serve

by AceQueenKing



Category: Tekken
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Sexual Harassment, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 03:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2798702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian was dead. Now he's not. </p><p>Lei Wulong learns an important lesson several second chances too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better to Reign than to Serve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beedekka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beedekka/gifts).



**Day 0**

There is blood on his hands, smoke in the air, and laughter on his lips.

“Put the gun down, Bryan.” Wulong is pleading with him – on the surface, he sounds authoritative, but Bryan _knows_ Wulong, knows the soft hitch in his voice means that Wulong is so agonizingly close to losing his shit.

He can feel it in the air – Wulong's so close to breaking open like an egg, and Bryan wants to laugh.

Well shit, if killing 16 people isn't enough to put him on Wulong's shit list, then what he's about to do really fucking should.

“No,” he says, simply, plainly, and shoves his gun in his mouth and fires, long before Wulong can pull his trigger.

His last thought is a faded memory: _Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven._

**Day 1**

There is no hell.

There is no heaven.

There is only nothingness.

And then there is not.

He wakes up in a glass coffin, more tubes connected to him than Wulong had after he'd gotten shot in Giza. His own damn fault.

But it's not Wulong staring at him.

The old man cackles.

He bangs against the glass, again and again and again, until a trickle of morphine drips through the tubes.

He feels his stomach turn woozy, the familiar euphoric nothingness that is opium, and then there's nothing.

**Day 5**

_Subject shows continuing signs of mental instability._

_Days 1-4 have seen repeated violent attempts to severe his connection to the Lazarus tube. Days 1-3 Subject Zero attempted to break glass. Signs of intellectual activity – on day four, subject attempted to pull tubes out of his body._

_Subject remains heavily medicated due to violent tendencies._

_Further research on whether such tendencies originated in individual prior to death or as a result of the Lazarus conversion is needed._   
  
_Current results seem promising._

_Dr. Abel: Lazarus Experiment Notes – Week 1_

**Day 6**

After six days of intense therapy, Lei Wulong is able to complete his report. He turns it in to his supervisors with a straight face.

_Suspect Bryan Fury was killed in a shoot-out between Triad-affiliated gang members and INTERPOL. The fatal shot was self-inflicted, originated from an INTERPOL-issued gun, entered through the mouth. Fury died instantly._

_Later research was unable to concern whether or not Fury had been connected with the Triad murders that led to the death of 1_ _6_ _undercover policemen investigating the Triad's drug trade in Hong Kong and Singapore._

He is never questioned as to the accuracy of his report.

Five hours after turning it in, Wulong burns the only baggie found on the scene with Bryan's fingerprints, and hopes that this minor cover-up will bring peace to his friend's soul.

_No better than you now, Bryan. Are you happy?_

He suspects the answer is no.

**Day 10**

On Day 10, Bryan is awake.

The old man watches him, disinterested.

He does nothing. Blinks. Scowls.

The old man smiles.

The liquid drains.

“I have a proposition for you,” the old man says.

And he is listening.

**Day 15**

_Subject has been released into the wild. Seems unaware of the RFID tracker_ _under_ _his skin, or, at least, makes no attempt to remove it._

_Subject has so far lived up to the reputation of violence and mayhem. Research indicates that this is consistent with behavior prior to Lazarus conversion. Numerous disciplinary warnings downloaded from INTERPOL confirm suspect has had long history of violence._

_Suspect seems to kill with abandon. First victim: Girl, 15 years old, Asian. in gas station. No prior knowledge of victim, no belongings taken. Cause of death: Bludgeoned with tire iron._

_Second victim: Male, mid-thirties, Caucasian. On street. No prior knowledge of victim, no belongings taken. Cause of death: strangulation._

_Third victim: Female, mid-twenties. African. In shop. No prior knowledge of victim, gun taken from purse. Cause of death: Shot in the back of the head._

_Fourth – Eighth Victims: Females, ages 14-17. Japanese. No prior knowledge of victim, one fuzzy kitten charm taken. Cause of death: Shot._

_Further observation will be required. Have ensured that no parts used in the Lazarus conversion can be traced back to the lab._

_Dr. Abel: Lazarus Experiment Notes – Week 2_

**Day 16**

Half a month after he says goodbye to his partner, Lei Wulong is formally back on duty.

It's a homicide, which is bad but not bad enough to involve INTERPOL, generally. An awful lot of murders in a city like Hong Kong, and most of them aren't unusual enough to get passed up to him.

But this one, he thinks as he thumbs the notes, is different. Wanton destruction; the victim's entire apartment tossed. _Triad,_ he thinks. But that wouldn't explain the state of the victim.

 _Vivisected_ is the first word that catches his attention, followed by _possibly alive during initial cuts_.

He makes a sympathetic grimace as he chugs his coffee.

His eyes flicker over one clue after another: _Substantial blood loss_ . _No signs of struggle in obtaining entry. Motive unknown._

Whoever the perp is, he's one sick motherfucker, Wulong thinks.

It's not until he's examining the body itself that he sees the give-away clue: a small tattoo edged in the woman's ankle: a snake's head, with two hollowed out red eyes glowing.

He gets the message.

**Day 20**

Bryan is beating the shit out of some rookie cop walking a beat on the wrong side of Hong Kong when he gets the message.

“Bryan.” The officer's walkie pops and crackles. “Bryan. I know it's you.”  
  
“Fuck off, Wulong.” The cop – too unconscious to beg for his life now – says nothing, so Bryan punches him harder. Let Wulong hear the sound of fist on bone, let Wulong hear the man's suffering. Wulong always was a damn agony aunt.

“Bryan.” Wulong's voice is begging, harsh. “Please. Stop this. I...”  
  
“What?” He stands up, brushes the man's brains from his hands.

“I'm sorry.” Wulong whispers. “I should have been there for you, should have been someone you could have come to. You never should have had to turn to drugs or—”

Bryan raises a foot and stomps down hard on the cop's radio, shattering Wulong's useless apology into a thousand shards of metal and plastic.

**Day 25**

_Subject's predilection toward violence is promising._

_Lured subject back to lab by manipulating vitals via the Lazarus Engine. Good method of keeping subject under control – without constant power supply modification, subject's Lazarus Engine heart will eventually stop functioning. Favorable method for terminating subject should he be unusable._

_Gave subject information regarding the King of Iron Fist tournament. Given subject's proclivity for violence, it seems likely that our plans may come to fruition without any direct intervention._

_Should subject be lost in the blood-sport, any suspicion will be cast on Dr. Bosconovitch. A convenient scapegoat, to say the least._

_Dr. Abel: Lazarus Experiment Notes – Week 3_

**Day 30**

20 years later, Tokyo was the same. Wulong boarded the train that would take him to the Mishima Event Center, the heart of the King of Iron Fist Tournament.

Everything in Tokyo was not what it seemed. Tokyo hid under a joyful plastic exterior, but the pink and white trimmings held only a Mishima-manufactured steel heart. Even the people.

He'd thought Jun was different, once; an argument about Nanking – one that led the WWWC officer to stomp out of his hotel room– changed his mind.

He wondered if she'd be there, too. It was odd, to return to a tournament he'd only participated in briefly two decades ago, and foolish to expect to see the same faces, yet... Was it not Heihachi Mishima grinning monstrously on the ads?

They'd never even indebted him for Kazuya's murder. Wulong's lips twitch.

The younger Mishima had always been a bastard – but even bastards deserved due process.

_Is that why you destroyed the evidence against Bryan?_

Wulong closed his eyes.

When he opened them, the train was at the station.

He pulled out his ticket, walked briskly from station to expo, eyes only flickering through the crowd for threats.

There are none.

There are none that he can see in the audience at the auditorium, either; a bunch of young kids, a few old faces – Phoenix, Law. No Jun.

He allows himself to relax, to actually listen to Heihachi's speech, which goes on far _too_ long on the pleasure of breaking bones.

And then the threat hits him, when he sees Bryan's snake eyes and smirking mouth, peering at him from left exit, leading to a wing of the building Heihachi hasn't bothered using.

He runs. Bryan waits, amused.

“Bryan!” His heart explodes behind his lungs. “Why?!” _How?,_ he wants to ask, but he knows the answer he'd get to that: _Fuckin' hell, Wulong. Does it matter?_

Bryan shrugs. “Why not?”

**Day 30**

“Don't give me that.” Wulong is wild, wilder than Bryan has ever seen him, and Bryan grins.

_Only took 10 years to get under your skin._

“Why did you do this? Hurt all those people? You don't need to turn to those things. You don't need to...Violence doesn't solve anything; you've been with INTERPOL enough to know that. ” Wulong is pacing in the abandoned wing as the old man drones on and on about the rules of bloodsports.

 _What a pointless topic_ , Bryan thinks. _The strong devour the weak_ , that's the only rule there ever is.

“I didn't _need_ to, I wanted to," he says; the truth, although that's not the reason he says it. There's something about Wulong, something so ...rewarding in picking at his former partner's weak points, needling him down to nothing. “...I did.”

“What?” Wulong screeches, all moral fury and indignation. “People _died_ because you were fucking _bored_?”  
  
“Yep.” He says, and shrugs.

“This isn't you.” Wulong is all master-teacher now, waving a finger at him just like he did for 10 damn years. “You used to care about people, you _wanted_ to help people.”  
  
“It's a nice story, but...” He leans in, grinning manically at Wulong's distraught face, already satisfyingly close to tears. “Honestly? I just wanted to carry a gun.”  
  
“ _Fuck_ you!” Wulong, to his surprise, takes the bait, slams his fist up into Bryan's nose. It connects, with just enough force to sting.

If Wulong were smart, he would have made that  _sting_  a killing blow – but Wulong always has more heart than brain.

He laughs and grabs Wulong's wrist, wrenching it toward's him. Wulong twists out of it, putting space between them so he can switch into another one of his bullshit Kung Fu stances. Bryan leaves his arms open and laughs.

“Come at me, little piggy. If you've got a warrant, which I'm pretty damn fucking sure you don't.”

Wulong's mouth twitches.

“I'm pretty sure hitting a suspect won't look too good on the police report.” Bryan punches his own face, over and over, until he's an absolute wreck; he can feel the blood burning, the flesh rotting. Good. “Better leave this off, right?”  
  
“Fuck you!” Wulong mutters, self-righteous as always. “I can't believe I was wiling to do anything for _you_.”  
  
Wulong aims a high kick at him, enough energy behind it to take off his head if Bryan wasn't just a little bit too fast.

Instead, he dodges and turns, sending his fist right into Wulong's gut.

 _Fish on the hook_ , he thinks, and laughs as he delivers several blows onto Wulong's choking, gasping face.

It hurts. He knows it hurts, even if Wulong never screams with the agony it must be causing him. So fucking _noble_. Bryan moves his fist higher, purposely busts Wulong's last two ribs.  
  
The noise they make when they crack under his fist is easily the best sound in the entire universe.

And then - and only then - does he see tears silently streaming down Wulong's face.

He throws him – easily, with these new implants – and Wulong lands in a heap on his back.

He laughs and crouches down next to Wulong, lets his blood drip over him. “If you go down that easy, then...perhaps you don't know me as well as you thought.”  
  
“F-fuck you.” Wulong groans. “You fucking bastard.”  
  
Bryan chuckles. ”Would have thought you'd want it the other way.”  
  
Wulong looks at him – eyes wide – as Bryan cackles. Fuck, it ain't like he has to hide it anymore. He's _dead._ Best to put all the cards on the table, 'cause Bryan's got four aces.

“Oh c'mon, Wulong. You don't think I know you go both ways?”  
  
“Fuck off, Bryan.” Wulong's arm shakily moves back – going for a pistol? Bryan effortlessly snatches Wulong's hand, holds in his own in a violent caress.  
  
“You don't think I've seen your cock twitch at me in those INTERPOL showers?” he cackles. “Don't think I notice how your hand stays on mine just a second too long when you're handing me reports?”  
  
“Let. Go.” For once, Wulong's voice with him is commanding, authoritative. 

In another life, that might have even turned him on a bit, being able to take that voice and make it _break._ There's nothing more satisfying than reducing a self-sanctimonious idiot to tears.

Bryan caresses his wrist, a subtle touch that traces a path up his arm to his neck. “Is this what you'd thought it would be? Aren't I _just_ your type?”

Wulong twists, trying to avoid his fingers as he delicately strokes the skin of Wulong's throat. “ _Nǚrén xiǎohuài, nánrén téng’ài –_ Isn't that what you Chinese say, that a little mischief is a good thing?”  
  
“That phrase is about women.” Wulong grimaces. “And it's certainly not something I'd say about you.”

“Guess it's about you then.” Bryan laughs. “Cuz I sure as fuck ain't about to get my ass pounded. You though, you could do that, bet you'd come like a little bitch with my fat American dick in your ass, screaming my name, bet after a while you'd even _like_ it—”

His monologue is broken by the click of a gun. Wulong stares at him from behind the barrel.

“Leave.” Wulong coughs. “Now.”  
  
It's a reprieve, one that itches, but he lets it go. He shrugs it off and turns, never bothering to look at Wulong's no doubt shaking hand.

There's no point in breaking the broken.

**Day 40**

_Project Lazarus is a failure._

_Subject disappeared during the tournament. Current whereabouts unknown._

_Have ensured Lazarus Engine will limit subject's lifespan._

_A new subject will be needed._

_Dr. Abel: Lazarus Experiment Notes – Week 4_

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Paradise Lost:  
>  _Here at least_  
>  _we shall be free; the Almighty hath not built_  
>  _Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:_  
>  _Here we may reign secure, and in my choice_  
>  _to reign is worth ambition though in Hell:_  
>  _Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven._  
>     
> The phrase" "nǚrén xiǎohuài, nánrén téng’ài" means "If a woman behaves mischievously, a man will love her more" in Mandarin.
> 
> Much thanks to [buhnebeest](http://archiveofourown.org/users/buhnebeest) giving this a super-fast once over for me.
> 
> Beedekka, happy holidays. I hope you like it.


End file.
